


When a body's in trouble

by CoinToYourWitcher



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: A cast makes an excellent weapon, Age Difference, All song fics all the time, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amnesia, Angst, Bartender Ben Solo, Ben Solo Needs A Hug, Bendemption, Catfishing, Character Development, Dark fic, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Depression, Drama, Drinking, Drug Use, F/M, Forbidden Love, Guilt, Handcuffs, Hands that look like they can build a shelf with one and pleasure you with the other, Happily Ever After, Homophobia, If You Can Believe it, Longing, Loss of Parent(s), Loss of Virginity, M/M, Masterbation, Memory Loss, No it doesn't it hurts like a B, Nonconsensual, Plot, Plot Twists, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Ben Solo, Rape, Rape Culture, Rape Recovery, Redeemed Ben Solo, Reylo - Freeform, Romance, Rose Ships It, Sexual Assault, Sexual Tension, Size Kink, Smoking, Song fic, Stalking, Suicidal Thoughts, Thriller, Tinder, Touch-Starved, a self challenge of using only glorious cover songs, ben is 31, fire escape sex, noncon, rape fic, rey is 21
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:29:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23553076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoinToYourWitcher/pseuds/CoinToYourWitcher
Summary: Basically...bartenter Ben rapes Rey and she hits him over the head with a bottle and he forgets the last ten years, then tries to redeem himself.The Spotify PlaylistHuge thank you to Zrofyre for being my amazing dark beta, and moodboard conspirator!!! She really made this work shine. Also thank you to AmberDread for the creepy stalker prompt that led me down this path.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo
Comments: 54
Kudos: 150
Collections: Anniversary Fic Exchange 2020





	1. When a body's in trouble

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AmberDread](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmberDread/gifts), [Zrofyre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zrofyre/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Oh, you just want to run somebody  
>  And a body won't let you  
> You want to let somebody  
> And a body won't let you  
> You just want to kiss somebody  
> You want to feel somebody  
> And a body won't let you  
> Oh who, oh who, who do you talk to?  
> Who do you talk to?  
> Who, who do you talk to?  
> Oh, who do you talk to?  
> When a body's in trouble**
> 
> Body’s In Trouble by Perfume Genius (Mary Margaret O'Hara cover)

[ ](https://ibb.co/jZPQcC1)

“Fate is for people who are too lazy to get out there and find someone,” Finn said, carefully applying Rey’s eyeshadow as they sat, cross-legged on the floor of his bedroom, a stash of his makeup littering the floor around them. 

Rey had been discussing moving away from dating apps and waiting to see who Fate brought her, a revolutionary idea, in her generation.

She dug through his makeup. His chocolate skin tone foundations were useless on her--being a pale white girl--but she liked his collection of eye shadows. Funny thought that, collecting shadows. She came by the blush naturally, as the resident virgin.

Finn was Rey’s best friend, self-declared bodyguard, and next door neighbor in their gloomy apartment complex in the South Bronx--a dangerous, barren place most New Yorkers only witnessed when passing through en route to somewhere else. 

Rey had dual citizenship and she _could_ go back to live with her mom in Westminster if she was ever able to afford the plane ticket. 

Two years ago, she had saved up and traveled to the States to meet her father for the first time--a very disappointing experience--proof that her dreams were often not aligned with reality. Instead of a loving, estranged father, she was met with an alcoholic deadbeat who didn’t even invite her into his apartment. 

She made her own way after that, ending up here, after her fair share of close encounters. Drug addicts, gangs, and nefarious police officers, hallmarks of a low-rent neighborhood, but all that changed when Finn volunteered his protection.

No one mugged her or made sinister comments when she was with Finn, due to his muscles, skin color, and the not-so-subtle handgun shoulder holster that peeked out of his bomber jacket. 

You needed a strong man by your side if you were a 110 lb girl in this neighborhood, and although Finn could come across as a badass, he was a total priss, a secret queen, better than any girlfriend she’d ever had when it came to gossip, makeovers, and long, over-analyzed, introspective talks about finding a perfect man. 

Finn had recently found his--in Poe--a tall, dark, and handsome figure that would have fit neatly into Rey’s type, were he straight. 

Poe liked to walk around Finn’s apartment in his boxer briefs, showing off the outline of a sizable member, a constant reminder to Rey that she _really_ needed to find someone to ravage, her young body’s libido off the charts. Rey knew she was slowly starving herself, waiting, knew her cravings were increasing to a fever pitch, knew eventually she would have to settle for some loser, just to feel a man’s rough touch, once.

“This’ll be my last Tinder date,” Rey said, showing Finn the picture on her phone. 

Finn nodded, “Nice abs.” 

“I call catfish,” Poe declared from their bathroom, having overheard him.

Rey reassessed his profile with a skeptical eye. Her date tonight was blonde and blue-eyed, which wasn’t normally what she went for, but she was trying to be less picky. She didn’t want to be alone forever.

“Why are you looking for a soulmate on a hookup app?” Poe asked, coming into view and leaning on the frame of the bedroom door, shirtless. 

At least he was wearing jeans. They must be going out tonight, Rey thought to herself.

“Nice guys don’t date girls who live in Mott Haven with four locks on the door. So I was left with Tinder, scavenging through assholes,” Rey explained. 

Finn sighed. 

“You used the shadiest app, meanwhile hoping Fate lets some dreamboat slip through the cracks. That’s just not reality. That’s why you’re 21 and still a virgin,” Finn said, shoveling his makeup back into a basket. “Do you want me to walk you to the bar?”

“No,” Rey said, prickling at the mention of her virginity. 

“Yes,” Poe insisted, sternly. “It’s getting dark.” 

Rey shivered at his words, almost as if her body had just sent her a warning. She tried not to ignore Fate’s signals.

“Fine,” Rey conceded. “And I’ll text you later and let you know how it went.”

“I already know how it’s going to go,” Finn said, teasing. “You’re going to stare at the _bartender_ all night.” 

“Ohhhh, but have you _seen_ the bartender?” Rey smiled, “His _hands_ look like he could build a shelf with one and pleasure you with the other.”

“I’m engaged, not blind,” Finn said, winking at Poe.

\-------------

Finn had arranged an understanding with Ben, the mysterious bartender at the Crossguard Bar, the closest place for a Tinder meet-up where he could escort Rey regularly to and fro. He didn’t like leaving her alone, but he’d planned ahead.

On her dates, Rey could sit at one of the small, round dinner tables lit semi-romantically by a cheap tea candle. If she ever felt uncomfortable, she could simply blow out the candle and Ben would know she needed help. 

It was a comfort to him to know she had that as an option, although she hadn’t needed to use it. 

With a quick shoulder squeeze, Finn broke his gangster street persona to flash Rey a naughty good luck smile, before heading back to the apartment. 

\------------

Rey _really_ _did_ _try_ not to look over her date’s shoulder at brooding Ben, who looked up from his paperback book, perceiving the slightest tip of her head in his direction. When things were slow, he always had a book at the ready. 

Her date hadn’t ‘catfished’ her, but she suspected some heavy Photoshop was employed, judging by his angular physique and soft handshake, but he was willing to ply her with drinks all night, giving her the chance to peek at Ben from time to time, so she let the deception slide.

She nodded when appropriate and feigned interest in his hobbies, but every time she gave him mildly-positive responses, he’d lean a little closer, his generously-applied cologne invading her nostrils.

Ben was observing them closely now, abandoning his book and tossing it under the counter.

They’d never spoken, but she and him were fluent in eye contact. This was her sixth date in three weeks and every time she walked into the bar, his dark gaze followed her like a hawk. It was disconcerting as well as flattering, considering he was probably ten years older than her and loomed over the bar from a height of 6 foot and some change.

There was something intimidating about him, an intensity that made her instinctually keep her distance, something her body was picking up on that her mind wasn’t. Although, she knew she was eventually going to work up the nerve to talk to him, an inescapable event, almost like a premonition. But for now, Rey viewed the length of wooden bar between them as a magical barrier. He was fictitious to her, uncorrupted by whatever flaw she would soon find in him.

Rey frowned as Tinder Date started to invade her personal space, putting a presumptuous hand on her knee and sliding it up her hip, but even worse, he was blocking her view of Ben, right when he was about to swipe his big hand through his pitch black hair. 

Snuffing the tea candle with a wave of her hand, Rey stood, irritated, excusing herself to go to the loo. 

She made eye contact with Ben as she weaved through the tables. His knitted eyebrows indicated he was aware that she had signalled for assistance.

In the cramped, dirty bathroom, where the music from the main room was muted, Rey looked herself over in the mirror, wondering if Ben was asking her date to leave the premises or if he’d just give him a warning about being handsy--if Ben had noticed that. She was fairly certain he did, Tinder Date’s hand had taken a while to fall from her leg after she stood so abruptly.

She briefly worried at the possibility that the four drinks in her system had made her theatrical, but maybe they would give her the courage to verbalize a ‘thank you’, before she retreated back to the nunnery of her apartment. 

Peeking out the door, she saw her date was still at the table, but Ben was leaning against the wall of the shadowy hallway, waiting to speak to her. 

She hadn’t expected a dialogue. In her mind, there had just been the two scenarios: leave or hands off, buddy. Neither of which would require a secret hallway conversation.

Her adrenaline pumping, Rey stepped out, ready to complain about her date’s fumbling advances, when Ben took her hand, without a word, and pulled her through a door she’d never noticed. Cold air hit her as she realized they were outside, in the alley.

“Oh, no! I’m fine,” Rey said quickly, assuming Ben thought she must be in real danger to warrant evasive maneuvers. 

He opened his mouth, licking his bottom lip in an exaggerated expression, scratching the back of his head and pivoting nervously, as if he’d been wanting to say something, holding it inside, finally ready to let it out.

“Have you ever heard of the writer Alphonse De Lamartine?” he asked, his breath coming fast and his jaw working. His voice was deeper than she thought it would be.

Baffled, Rey shook her head. What an odd way to open a conversation with a stranger. In an alley.

“No, but what made you think of him?”

Ben ran his hand through his hair, “Because he said, ‘There is a name hidden in the shadow of my soul, where I read it night and day and no other eye sees it.’” 

Rey swallowed.

She had one second to register the ferocity of his mood, before his knuckles pressed on her ribs, effectively flattening her to the wall. He hunched, his mouth opening and closing on her lips, begging for entry. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth, feeling his hot tongue snake inside. 

Her first kiss, she thought, excitedly. 

She hadn’t considered there being a lack of oxygen as she inhaled his used air, before remembering she had a nose.

His tongue tasted like smoke, which shouldn’t have surprised her, she had spotted a cigarette behind his large ear on more than one occasion, but she wasn’t sure how she felt about the flavor. Part of her was thrilled to have her mouth invaded by her crush, but that nagging perfectionist in her was wishing there was something appetising about the palate.

Rey ignored the clinking sounds of a drunk homeless man puttering by the far end of the alley, the sour smell of the dumpster, and the fact that she was standing in a puddle. 

Instead, she enjoyed the way Ben pinned her to the wall with nothing but his pelvis, both hands commanding control on either side of her head. 

Her body was responding instinctually to his deep kiss, her wet lips an echo of what was happening between her legs, as she felt herself becoming uncomfortably slippery.

Rey’s hands had nowhere to go but directly to either side of him, or between them where she could run her thumbs up the definition of his ‘man V’ through his T-shirt. That innocent contact seemed to send him into a fervor.

Ben lowered his hand from her face, suddenly pawing hard at her sensitive breast, moving too fast to be just passionate. Fear snapped her back to reality, her eyes opened, and Rey attempted to slow him down, push him, but it was like being trapped between two walls. 

Rey didn’t try to speak, she couldn’t, his mouth was still on hers, so instead, she bit down on the tip of his tongue with her canine tooth, harder than she intended, enough to draw blood. To her bewilderment, he didn’t stop, only growing more excited, apparently, as he ground a robust erection into her, so hard her feet lifted from the concrete for a moment. 

As claustrophobia set in and the copper of his blood hit her taste-buds, self-preservation took over and she raised a knee, catching him right in the nuts. 

Ben cringed, backing away enough for her to slide to the side and grab the door handle, preparing to run back into the bar. 

His hand flew up to hold it closed, his face confused as he watched her, panting.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were scared,” he said, clutching his balls with the other hand.

“You thought I just _liked_ biting people?” Rey asked, exasperated, releasing the handle, her fear dissipating at his return to conversation.

“Yeah, that’s a thing,” he chuckled to himself. 

Rey stood, looking down at her wet heels, waiting for her heart rate to slow. She glanced up regretfully at his trousers as they mocked her with his promising bulge. Rey thought about asking if they could just keep going, pretend she hadn’t ruined the exchange, but his face was still pained. She had killed the moment. 

Blushing, Rey smiled weakly at him, silently asking forgiveness for her overreaction, her inexperience in these situations. 

“Come back in,” he entreated her, opening the door. “I’ll ask that guy to leave.”

Rey smoothed her hair, mentally berating herself, and ducked under the arch of Ben’s arm, back inside.


	2. Tell her that her lonely nights are over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream  
>  Make her the cutest that I've ever seen  
> Give her the word that I'm not a rover  
> And tell her that her lonely nights are over**
> 
> Mr. Sandman by SYML (Vaughn Monroe cover)

After Ben asked Rey’s date to fuck off, he was surprised she didn’t call her friend to come shepard her home, instead ordering another screwdriver before Last Call, and meandering over to the pinball machine, where she kicked off her soggy heels and played, seemingly unaffected by her fright in the alley.

He _almost fucking had her_. 

Physically, right there in his hands. 

His shrink was wrong. 

He didn’t have a _‘disorder’._

He had paid in cash, using an ID with a false name, just to hear how traumatized he was, how his brain was focusing it on a distraction, a _delusion_ to avoid the pain. 

Anyone who had won the lottery of his fucked up life would focus on something else. Who could possibly cope with what he’d been through? Hurting others helped to lash away the fear he couldn't defend himself from as a younger man, under the punishing ‘care’ of his uncle.

Who wouldn’t envy the purity, the blank slate that was this girl? Even her accent was like a glass of cold water compared to the rough tongues of his usual clientele. 

She wasn’t commiting slow suicide with a pack a day, too young to be thinking seriously about the effects those little drinks of hers could have on her liver if she drank to excess for five years after finding her parents bodies. 

She wasn’t a delusion, she was there, shining a light into his soul with every glance.

Anyway, isn’t it only a delusion if the other person doesn’t reciprocate, doesn’t feel the same attraction?

Rey peeked over her shoulder at him, in that day-dreamy way that she did. 

That was how he was going to take her, with her face looking back at him.

Her continued presence was confirmation that she wanted _him_ , not those boys she kept meeting at his bar. 

It was ironic, how her friend had designated him her ‘protector’.

She was like one of those little fish that swam side by side with sharks, fearing the dolphins, unaware that he was eventually going to be hungry enough to turn his head.

She was waiting for closing time, waiting to be with him. She probably didn’t even know he owned the place, since they’d never had a proper conversation. 

His cook and waitress had gone home an hour ago. The last patron left and he locked the door, turning to watch as she stood, tapping the buttons on the pinball machine.

“Are you waiting for your friend to come get you?” he asked, wondering if they should expect company.

“No, I texted him that you walked me home,” she said, smiling at her own bravado. She took a sip of her drink and set it back on the floor.

She was a romantic. 

She had a crush on him. 

She had no idea how dark the world was, that she had just doomed herself. 

She was goodness, he the reverse, she: love, he: lust, the same goal in mind tonight.

Lighting a cigarette, he casually closed the distance between them, swinging by the bar to grab a bottle of whiskey. He set it down next to her half-empty glass.

Ben didn’t bother to project his offensive smoke away from her face as she smiled determinedly down, watching the silver ball. 

The evocative smell of burning tobacco was making her want to gag and breathe deeper at the same time. She wanted so badly to like everything about him. 

Stepping behind her now, he put his arms on either side of the game, with her in the middle, tapping his cigarette ashes to the floor. 

She shivered and her fingers stopped moving, probably rethinking her precarious situation.

Too late.

He leaned over her, to one side, waiting for her to turn to his kiss, still hopeful that he was a decent, unbroken man. 

She was met with the taste of ash and blood. 

Still oblivious, she whined when his hand groped down to her pussy, under her dress, feeling a wetness forming through her panties. 

She felt it too, this inevitable thing between them. He felt the blood rushing to his cock.

She buried her ass into his erection, making him groan into her mouth. 

She still didn’t get that this wasn’t a love story. 

Removing his hand from underneath her dress, he grabbed her hair, slamming her cheek to the plastic of the pinball machine, hearing a scream escape her. 

His other hand was still resting on the machine, right in front of her face, and she watched wide-eyed, in shock, as his cigarette slowly dripped ashes. 

Ben took a drag, blowing the smoke over her back as he lifted her dress slowly, tracing up the curve of her ass with his middle finger. 

“Stop, ow ow ow,” she squeaked out, as his fist tightened in her hair. She raised her hands to her head, trying to loosen his grip as her hair tore at the roots.

“If I let go, you can’t move,” he whispered into the skin of her bare shoulder. 

She made a noise of assurance, tears of pain or fear pooling in her eyes.

He released his hold on her hair, hearing a sigh of relief. 

She didn’t move, either frozen out of terror, or waiting for an opportunity to flee. 

Flicking his cigarette to the floor, he unzipped the back of her dress, tearing it down her arms until it hung around her waist, now a skirt. Her arms shot up to cover her bare breasts, probably wishing she’d worn a bra tonight. She didn’t need one though, with tits that small. 

From the feel he got in the alley, he knew she wasn’t wearing one, and he liked that she didn’t try to compensate with padding. Nothing worse than a lie.

He pulled her arms apart with ease, accessing all of her, palming her with his hand, big enough to fit both of her breasts in one. She whimpered a little, reminding him that there was a person in there, more than just a body. She needed the feel of him too, real human contact. He was going to fill her with it. 

He unzipped his jeans, the sound startling her into flight mode, but he was expecting that. 

Grabbing her waist, he walked her back, slamming her down again, and kicking her feet apart. 

She let out a little sob as his grip on her waist tightened. 

He wasn’t sure why he was treating her this way, but it felt like revenge. 

Revenge for haunting his thoughts, for looking at him when he couldn’t have her, when she was with another man, the bar crowded. 

Revenge for getting away every time, never approaching him, slipping away like water through his fingers.

Freeing his dick, he licked his hand, wetting himself and stroking the blood upwards to his tip, wanting to impress her with his shaft. 

The anticipation—after so many weeks—was almost too much. He wouldn’t last long, he’d have to hurry.

Ripping her panties down to her knees, he stepped on them to get them the rest of the way to the floor, before finding her entrance and slipping his head inside. 

Inch by inch, she took his length, like that of her forearm, only thicker, until, looking down, her ass was right up against him. 

She was holding her breath, her turn to cringe.

He closed his eyes, taking in the feel of her, so taut, like a thick, slippery rubber band hugging the base of his cock. 

He moved out and back in.

Rey made a little noise as her entrance probably tore a little, trying to stand up straight again, but he pressed her back down. 

His hands on her hips, he pulled her back and forth over him, his pace indecent, waiting for the resistance of her virgin cunt to relax, not wanting to come early from the fucking grip on him.

She was holding the sides of the machine to steady herself, to keep her skin from sticking to the plastic, crying so hard no noise escaped her mouth.

“Relax, I’m not going to kill you or anything,” he said, seriously, as if it were obvious, still thrusting.

Rey screamed, his words doing little to comfort her, but it was always going to be scary, her first time.

He could tell she was untouched from the start, it was written in her every self conscious movement, in every look of curiosity. 

He was fucking those childish expressions off her face forever, making her a woman. 

She’d never forget him, Her First Time. They’d fall asleep every night thinking of the other, no matter where life took them, bonded through trauma.

Going harder, the whole 300 lb machine shook from the force of his pumps. And yet, she still wouldn’t look back at him. As if the intimacy of eye contact would be too much, despite him being almost a foot deep inside her body.

She was so slick from where he’d touched her, from when she was willing, only moments ago.

Now she was face down on the machine, the garrish lights burning into her retinas, the jingling, jostling bells of the game embarrassing her as they made a joke of her horror, her poor, little cries falling on deaf ears for a whole, vacant city block. 

Rey covered her face with her hands, but he could feel a fresh wetness caressing him now. She was aroused, her young body stretching to accommodate his girth, lubricating to protect her from the friction of his assault, the position of his cock pounding right into her G-spot. 

She wept, mad at her own body as she squirmed under his grasp, furious that she was presenting him with a wet, quivering victim. Her fear and adrenaline only helped to fasten her walls around his cock as she came. 

He made a noise and she looked back at him, wondering if he was going to pull out. 

There it was.

“Ahh, fuuck,” he groaned, pouring his desire into her smooth, swollen cunt, exhaling until his lungs were flat and empty, licking the spit off his bottom lip and rubbing the sweat off his forehead onto her back.

Then she twisted, catching his eye with her elbow as hard as she could, knocking him to the floor as he tripped over his jeans, still around his knees.

She grabbed the bottle of whiskey off the floor, gripped it with both hands by the handle and swung it like a golf club across his temple with a nasty thud that made his teeth chatter and his neck twist unnaturally far.

Everything went blue for a moment, as blood seeped from his head. Raising his hand, he felt a wet _dent_ where the pain was.

He heard the click of the door unlocking behind him and her bare feet padding onto the sidewalk as she raced into the night. 

Ben felt pity for her now, for running around these unsafe streets half naked—and barefoot too, she’d step on glass! He was going to clean her up and walk her home, but how could she know that?

He tried to get up, but folded back down, his searing head wound more debilitating than he had thought. 

He lay immobile, his face on the smooth concrete floor, blinking at her still half-finished screwdriver, watching the condensation roll down the glass. The blurry pink of her panties lay beyond it, but his eyes wouldn’t focus.

Warm blood ran into his right eye, then the other—effectively blinding him—before he slid out of consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I did so much trauma research for this story. 
> 
> Apparently if you are traumatized repeatedly you can get to the point where you no longer understand people’s emotions and you don’t care that they have emotions. 
> 
> Also, delusions like this are common, a coping mechanism created by your brain to focus on something or someone you like to the point of complete and unhealthy obsession.


	3. Every time you close your eyes, lies, lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Sleeping is giving in  
>  No matter what the time is  
> Sleeping is giving in  
> So lift those heavy eyelids  
> People say that you'll die faster than without water  
> But we know it's just a lie  
> Scare your son, scare your daughter  
> People say that your dreams are the only things that save ya  
> Come on, baby, in our dreams  
> We can live our misbehavior  
> Every time you close your eyes  
> Lies, lies**
> 
> Rebellion (Lies) by Benjamin Francis Leftwich (Arcade Fire cover)

Rey clawed at the locks on her door, her shuddering hand having difficulty fitting the key into each slot. 

Finally getting past her own fortress defenses, she spun, closing it quietly behind her so Finn and Poe wouldn’t hear her. She was supposed to be in bed already, according to her earlier text.

Some of _him_ had drained out of her on the run home, drying slowly on her legs, the sight of which made her vomit right there on her living room carpet.

Wiping her mouth with her bare arm, she limped to the bathroom, turning the shower on. The mixture on her thighs was pink, she saw in the light, a combination of her blood and him. 

She twisted out of what remained of her dress, feeling sore all over as the numbing effects of shock wore off, her only pain relief now the five drinks from the bar. Well, four and a half. 

Climbing into the shower, she started scrubbing her body with a washcloth, _inside_ and out, not realizing how long she had been doing that until her flesh was raw and the water ran cold.

Sitting down, she ducked her head into the cold water, smelling a fresh wave of his smoke that had clung to her hair. 

She watched as a little bit of blood ran down her breast from the end of her hair, from where he’d torn at her scalp. 

She pulled a tiny clump of hair away from the rest, her mouth gaping.

She just wanted to curl up in her bed. There was no way she could face a police station tonight. 

She might not even report it. She could just buy a gun like Finn and shoot him. 

The violence of that thought gave her pause. 

She didn’t even buy animal products because she didn’t want to be indirectly responsible for someone somewhere holding a knife.

Her thoughts spiraled as she cast around uncharacteristically for a solution: making it look like an accident, hiring a hit man, or just letting Finn kill him, but no, then Finn would go to prison, and did New York have the death penalty? Where did he live? What if he lived on her block and she’d just never crossed paths with him? What if she reported him and he got out in a few years and came to find her? 

She had a disturbing imagining where she was just walking through Mott Haven and he followed her, grabbing the side of her head and bashing it into the brick wall and walking away. That _could_ happen.

Her body was numb from cold, the needs of survival finally silencing her panic.

Rey realized her shower curtain had been open this whole time, a pool of water half an inch deep coating her small bathroom floor.

Seeing her phone underwater, she picked it up and tapped the screen. It was dead.

She threw it back to the floor, noticing a bruise forming on her arm, more on her hips, like small shadows.

——————

Rey didn’t have any ibuprofen, so for the first few days, she simply drank her way through the liquor and wine gifts left over from her 21st birthday. 

She didn’t want to leave the apartment until her bruises faded, talking to Finn and Poe only through her locked door. 

“Okay, Rey, you’re really starting to worry us. Just open the door so we can talk to you face to face,” Finn said, after two weeks.

“I still have that thing,” Rey lied, trying to make herself sound weak and weary.

“There’s no way you’ve had a stomach bug for thirteen days,” Poe said. “Open up.”

The thought of having men in her apartment was giving her a complicated reaction, the urge to throw on two layers of her baggiest clothes to hide her body, not because it was bruised, but because it was female and even though she knew them, trusted them, and they weren’t attracted to women, their man-ness was why she forbade their entry.

“I’m not a doctor, I don’t know what I’ve got, but it’s gross in here, just give me some privacy and I’ll come visit when I feel better,” Rey said, glad the obstruction of the door disguised her pathetic performance.

The next week, they had threatened to call the police and have the cops break down the door with a battering ram, but she’d convinced them that she wasn’t suicidal and that she’d be okay. 

They still brought her groceries and left her kind notes, knowing she’d likely lost her waitressing job from absences.

Time passed quickly. Most days she slept, waking up at odd hours to eat something, use the bathroom, then return to the haven of her bed.

One morning, after about three and a half weeks of hermitage, Rey awoke from a dream that was similar to the night in the bar, only events had played out the way she had thought they would. 

Ben had approached her, kissed her, and seduced her—gently. 

Hating herself, Rey slid her hand into her panties, finding her body slick from the dream. 

**Have you ever heard of the writer Alphonse De Lamartine?**

No one was around to judge her. Rey let her fingers find a rhythm as she straightened her legs, feeling the nerves in her groin alive and aching. 

**There is a name**

Images of the real event invaded her thoughts now and she tried to remember the dream instead of reality, but one was glued in her memory and the other was fading as her body awoke. 

**hidden in the shadow of my soul**

She kept going, yearning for that sweet release, biting her lip in shame as she thought of the real Ben’s pounding assault, the smell of his cigarette burning on the floor, his crushing grip on her hips that left the biggest bruises. 

**where I read it night and day**

The way his enormous dick punched a secret place in her she didn’t know she had. Ben’s deep groan.

**and no other eye sees it.**

She didn’t make a sound as she finally climaxed, a slight convulsion in her core came and went and in one recovery breath, she was pulling her hand out of her panties and wiping it off on the shirt she was about to change out anyway. 

She didn’t analyze what she had just done. She was grateful to know she could still feel pleasure, by whatever means.

Turning her legs to hang off the edge of the bed, Rey looked at herself in the full-length mirror across from her on the wall. 

Her hair was a mane, her lips pale. 

She needed to get out of the apartment.

After showering and brushing her hair into a messy, wet bun, Rey applied some party red lipstick in the hopes of brightening her face. 

This Rey looked more like _her_ , she thought, smiling at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She held the lipstick to the glass like a crayon and drew a small heart, a little mark just for her.

\-----------------------------

Rey started a new routine. Her life was different now. After.

She never turned _left_ when leaving her apartment complex. That was the direction of the Crossguard Bar. She went out of her way to find a different grocery store, a different waitressing job—at a gay bar—where she’d be safe.

It had been four months since _it_ happened and she was starting to feel sane again, especially after Poe and Finn mentioned that the Crossguard Bar had been sold, informing her that her “dreamy bartender” wasn’t there anymore. 

The painful mention wasn’t their fault, they didn’t know _why_ she had undergone a self-imposed exile. They probably thought she was undiagnosed bipolar or something.

It was odd how she had over-analyzed everything _before._ But the event itself, his strange, unpredictable behavior, the violence, she just _remembered_. Her brain was protecting her, refusing to throw theories around, willing her to file it away, use it as a cautionary tale. 

She ordered a variety of self defense supplies, pepper spray, a taser, even handcuffs, in case she wanted to keep him in place for the cops. If she ever saw him again she would be ready, and it gave her a sense of peace.

She was seeing an increase in the amount of time she could go without thinking of it. Three hours turned into five. Eventually, she’d be able to go a whole day without remembering it. 

——————

Carrying two bags of groceries out of the store, she waited for a truck to roll slowly past, before she went to cross the street. 

At the last second—too late—she realized the truck was pulling a low, metal hauling trailer and she was stepping right in front of it—when a pair of arms grabbed her waist, twisting her and throwing her backwards onto the sidewalk, her groceries flying everywhere.

“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry! I didn’t see the trailer,” she apologized, watching a man holding his arm in pain on the ground next to her. She stood up and offered her hands to help him up, then froze. 

**There’s a name**

He sat up, cradling his arm, as he appraised the red scratches on _her_ elbows.

“No problem, I just...ha...I think my arm is broken. Don’t worry, it’s not _the important arm_ ,” he joked crudely, clearly not recognizing her. “Oh, sorry, that was inappropriate,” he added. “Sorry, sometimes my jokes are...um...inappropriate.”

Rey’s stood stock still, public decorum telling her it was rude or weird to sprint away in that moment. But how silly was that, when she should be quaking in fear, waiting for her incubus to recognize her. There was no rationalizing her thoughts or actions these days.

Ben started trying to pick up her groceries with his one good arm, putting them back in the paper bags, like some kind of good samaritan.

Rey watched him, as if he was just something on Netflix, no threat to her ability to live another day. She spotted a scar on his temple, about an inch long, where she’d hit him with the bottle. 

“I don’t know the neighborhood well, do you know if there’s a hospital closer than Lincoln Medical Center?” he asked, while he tossed her bananas into the bag.

“There isn’t,” Rey said, wondering if her lipstick had worn off, because why? She wanted to look good for her rapist? Why was she talking to him at all?

“I’ll call a cab, or a _Lyft_ ,” he said, more to himself than to her. 

Rey stepped forward, taking one bag of food as he offered it and staring wide-eyed at him, waiting for his memory to kick in. She couldn’t seem to convince her body the situation warranted a hasty escape, but maybe she could draw an attack, use her pepper spray on him.

He looked down at her quizzically from his full height, but there was no flicker of shame.

“Don’t you recognize me?” Rey asked, whispering. 

If he remembered her, she could yell for help, or run back into the store, or hit him with a jar of miraculously unbroken pasta sauce, then mace the shit out of him.

“Uh. Did you go to Vanguard High School?” Ben asked, distracted by his forearm as it began to swell.

“No,” Rey said, confused. They may not have talked much, but he _definitely_ should remember her. 

“You don’t remember me from the Crossguard Bar?” Rey asked, sliding her hand to her open purse, where her trusty pepper spray lay in wait, itching to lay waste to his senses.

“Oh, _that place_. I sold it, gave me the creeps. I actually-,” he pointed to the scar on his temple, “hit my head and have some amnesia. Not really bad, but I’m thirty-one and I can only remember up till I was twenty-one. It’s _crazy_...sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you!” 

He laughed, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

“Do you know how the Lyft app works?” he asked, barely aware of her presence. “We didn’t have this in 2010.”

Rey stared at him, struggling with his bad arm and “new” technology. He thought she was just one of his old bar patrons. 

She had single-handedly hit the factory reset on a monster. 

He seemed light-hearted now. Friendly. Charming.

Or, he was lying. She took a small step back.

“Do you want to come too? They could patch up your elbows,” he offered.

“No way,” Rey said, not falling for him this time. Her body finally switched on, feeding oxygen to her bloodstream, readying her in case she needed a boost to outrun a man with the body of an Olympian.

His smile faded, taken aback. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to freak you out or anything.” 

His comment reminded her of when he lied to her in the alley, when she decided to trust him and come back inside.

“I have to go,” Rey gulped, leaving her second bag of groceries at his feet.

“Are you okay?” he asked, having heard the quaver in her voice.

“No, I’m not,” she said, turning and walking down the sidewalk, the opposite direction of her apartment, in case he followed her. She glanced back to make sure he wasn’t. 

He was still watching her, but suddenly his mouth parted slightly. It looked as if he _had_ recognized her, just then as she looked over her shoulder. 

Rey let her groceries fall and ran.


	4. All I know is everything’s going to be alright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **You and me together  
>  Through the days and nights  
> I don't worry 'cause  
> Everything's going to be alright  
> People keep talking, they can say what they like  
> But all I know is everything's going to be alright  
> No one, no one, no one  
> Can get in the way of what I'm feeling  
> **
> 
> No One by Cold War Kids (Alicia Keys cover)

The pretty girl looked over her shoulder, her hazel eyes meeting his, a curious smile playing on her lips. He flashed his lazy grin at her, squinting under the blinding sun. 

The sun turned into a florescent light on the ceiling.

Ben awoke in the hospital to a flurry of excited nurses. 

“He’s awake,” one said to the hallway.

Another nurse came in, joining the other four as they circled his bed, watching him closely as if he was some sort of local celebrity.

“How many fingers?” one asked, holding up three fingers. 

The question felt slightly patronizing, the situation uncomfortable. He resorted to humor, his old fallback.

“Depends on how tight you are,” he said, cracking a smile and realizing his throat was dry.

The nurses erupted in laughter, perhaps a little too enthused by his quip.

“Are my parents here?” he asked, pulling the oxygen tubes away from his nose. He’d clearly been in some sort of accident and he was wondering why there were only nurses at his bedside. 

Their smiles evaporated as they looked at each other seriously and two of them left the room.

“Sweetheart, according to what we could track down, your parents aren’t around anymore,” another nurse said, watching his face.

“What do you mean, ‘not around anymore’?” Ben asked. He had seen them recently at Christmas. His dad and him had worked on restoring the interior of his 1969 Boss 429 Mustang.

“They’ve been gone for some time. Can I ask...what year do you think it is?” she asked, ignoring the whispers of the other two nurses.

“It’s 2010...isn’t it?” Ben asked, feeling his throat tighten as he watched their faces, realization hitting him that he was wrong and that his parents were dead.

\-------------------------------------

Taking things slowly, the hospital staff found out as much as they could about the last ten years of Ben’s life, in an attempt to jog his memory. 

A homeless man was the one to call an ambulance for him, finding him on the floor, claiming that the door was open. The EMTs said he was gone by the time they arrived but it looked like he had moved Ben into a sitting position and absconded with as much liquor as he could carry, leaving a trail of broken bottles down the sidewalk.

They allowed the cook and waitress from his bar to come and visit him, but he didn’t recognize them, having bought the place only five years ago. Apparently.

It had taken him a few days to get used to his 31-year-old body, mistreated by a smoking habit, thirsting for brown liquor—instead of the occasional IPA. His lanky frame had been masked with heavy muscle, the sheer _width_ of his chest baffling him. 

His boyish mind clashed horribly with this outward appearance, but he was beginning to understand why the nurses fawned over him. 

His headaches and lack of memories left him feeling vulnerable. After a hundred failed attempts to meditate or jumpstart his lethargic brain into giving him information, he felt a hopeless fatigue, dependent on others to fill in the blanks.

Sometimes he would sit in his room, apathetic to the pleas of the nurses to go for a walk, or write, or read, or fucking paint. He would sit until the sun went down and he should turn on the light, but instead just stewed in the cauldron of emptiness and despair that was his impairment. 

Other days, he walked the halls like the captain of the football team, memorizing names of the staff just to have something new to collect for his mind folders. 

The nurses patiently showed him school records that proved he had graduated from Columbia with a business degree in 2011. His LinkedIn showed that he had worked as a private consultant, before buying the property that became the Crossguard Bar. 

Ben could tell they were withholding something, waiting till he had healed more, physically and emotionally—after hearing that his parents were gone. 

Finally, he insisted on knowing how they had died.

His favorite nurse, Nurse Holdo, sat him down in the cafeteria, each with an untouched coffee in front of them.

“Apparently, in 2015, your dad owed some bad people money,” she started, “They came to their house. Does any of this sound familiar?” she asked, gently.

Ben shook his head, covering his mouth. He could tell it was going to be something grisly. 

“They. Shot your mother. Then your father shot himself. You were the one that found them,” she said, laying her hand flat on the table between them, offering it if he needed it.

Ben cough-sobbed, covering his face with his hands, “Fuck. I’m glad I don’t remember that,” then, his face contorting without his permission, he decided he did need a hand to hold. 

She looked like she was going to cry herself when his hand reached for hers. 

People in the cafeteria line were watching them now, rather than the person preparing their sandwiches.

“That must have been hard for you when that happened, considering what you already went through as a kid, with your uncle. We couldn’t find any records of a childhood psychologist, or an adult psychologist, just the police records,” she said, hinting that she could arrange that if he wanted.

Ben cleared his throat, “I remember my uncle, we don’t need to go into it.”

She nodded, adding her other hand to their mid-table embrace.

“Anything else?” Ben laughed, ready to go back to his room.

“Well, we did try to look for the girl you kept mentioning, but according to your staff and landlord, you didn’t have a girlfriend,” she said, sympathetically.

“She was probably just an old girlfriend or something then,” Ben said, disappointed. The only thing he could remember from his week-long coma was the girl looking over her shoulder.

Ben stood, giving Nurse Holdo a quick hug, then walked back to his room for a less-public cry.

\---------------------------

Ben stared, dumbstruck, at the corner where the girl had disappeared with half her groceries. 

He was so stupid. He should have recognized her from his coma dreams, especially after she repeatedly mentioned that they knew each other. How many nights had he paced his apartment, haunted by her face, only to blunder it now?

There was that one day where he endeavored to draw his memory, but he couldn’t get his meaty hand to coordinate with his brain, like trying to write with his left, unable to achieve the desired motions. It infuriated him that this was the same hand, just with more muscle. He’d given up on her after that.

He wanted to run after her, kiss her, tell her that he recognized her— _something—_ from a lost decade of his injured mind, a sign he was healing.

His Lyft driver pulled up to the curb to take him to the Emergency Room, reminding him that his arm was swelling and painful. He climbed in the backseat, but spotted something on the sidewalk, leaning out of the car to grab it. 

It was the girl’s wallet. Digging around with his good hand, he found a debit card that identified her as Rey Palpatine. There was also a name tag that said Flaming Saddles Saloon on it. 

Looking up at the Lyft driver, Ben asked if they could make a detour.

They pulled up outside of a fire engine red bar, the Lyft driver looking at him as if he was planning something strange, somehow involving picking up a gay man and going to the hospital.

“I’m just returning a wallet,” he said. “I’ll be right back.” 

Ben walked in and signaled for the bartender, sliding the feminine wallet across the counter, “Does a Rey Palpatine work here? I found-.”

“Yeah, she’s lurking in the photo booth,” he laughed, pointing behind Ben. 

Ben smiled, having expected her to pick it up another day, but giving it back in person was better. Choking back his nerves, as if he was about to ask a girl to prom with little time for mental preparation, he took two strides over to the photo booth, knocking on the side. 

Rey opened the curtain to peek out, her eyes widening at the site of him.

Why did she look _scared_ of him? He tried to remember exactly what she had said to him outside of the grocery store. There was definitely something off.

He held the wallet up, “You dropped this, saw the nametag.”

She reached out, taking it gingerly out of his hand, without speaking. 

“Listen, I know this is going to sound weird, but I don’t remember anything from the last ten years except for your face, I mean, it took me a second, but I recognize you now,” Ben said, feeling exhausted. His arm was throbbing and he had a migraine coming on.

“But I need to get to the hospital, maybe I could just get your number,” he said, feeling dizzy.

“No!” she said, as if he was crazy to even ask.

Ben balked at her tone, surmising she was _definitely_ his ex and they had parted less than amicably.

“Man, I think I’ve overexerted myself today, I don’t feel great. My doctors told me not to-,” Ben stopped, getting tunnel vision, and sitting down before he fell over.


	5. And I’ll get along with you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **All the girls played mental games  
>  And all the guys were dressed the same  
> Why not try it all  
> If you only remember it once?  
> Sit me down, shut me up  
> I'll calm down and I'll get along with you**
> 
> I’ll Try Anything Once by Joni (The Strokes Cover)

Rey felt a sense of deja vu watching Ben crumple to the floor of the bar. 

“Lando! Can you help me?” she called to the barman, stepping around Ben as if he were contagious.

Lando walked around the bar and helped him stand, throwing Ben’s arm over his shoulder. 

“I have a Lyft outside,” Ben said, adding, “hospital.”

Rey walked behind Lando as he managed to get Ben through the door and into the backseat of the car. The driver was cursing in a foreign language, trying to figure out why they had brought back his customer half-conscious, refusing to leave without someone accompanying him. Rey argued with him through the passenger window, Ben passed out now. 

The driver had a little name keychain dangling from his rear view mirror.

Alphonse

**Have you ever heard of the writer Alphonse De Lamartine?**

Rey tried not to ignore Fate’s signals.

Making sure she still had her pepper spray in her purse, Rey climbed in the front seat, telling the driver to go. 

She felt responsible for Ben’s head injury, which was having lasting effects, some great, but some potentially life-threatening. He had also probably broken his arm saving her from the trailer. 

The least she could do was make sure he got to the Emergency Room, she thought, mildly shocked by her own altruism.

The hospital staff brought out a wheelchair for Ben, and Rey was going to leave in the same Lyft, but she overheard a small Asian nurse say, “Oh, no! It’s Coma Ben,” before walking alongside him.

Maybe this nurse could tell her whether or not Ben was lying about the memory loss, because if he was, Rey was going to have to change her name and find a new job, something she had started considering on the Lyft ride over.

Trailing behind the EMT’s, Rey waited until the nurse came out of the room where they had hooked him up to a monitor and given him a drip.

“Excuse me, were you a nurse when Ben was here with a coma?” Rey asked her.

“Yes, I’m Nurse Rose, are you family?” she asked, before offering any patient information.

“Uh, well, no, but he _does_ recognize me. Can you at least tell me if he remembers anything from the last ten years?” Rey asked, feeling desperate. 

“Are,” Nurse Rose lowered her voice in a whisper, as if she shouldn’t be talking to Rey. “Are you the girl from his dreams?”

Rey looked over Nurse Rose’s shoulder at Ben as they sat him up in bed, an oxygen mask on his face now.

“I might be the girl,” Rey said, hoping it would get her more intel.

“Oh my gosh!” Rose squealed, “He kept asking about you, it was the sweetest thing. But that’s all I can tell you!”

“Yeah, real sweet,” Rey said, remembering the ten dark purple, finger-sized bruises on her hips that took two weeks to fade.

Walking back to the waiting room, Rey sat down, wondering why she was still there. 

Who cared what happened to him now? 

She had her wallet and he had Nurse Rose fussing over him. 

Was it just morbid curiosity that kept her in that plastic seat? She pulled out her headphones and played music to drown out the sounds of the waiting room, watching the time go by on the clock.

Nurse Rose came out to find her after several hours.

“He’s doing fine and he gave me permission to talk to you. He seemed really happy to know you were still here,” she said, as if to stoke the fires of their imaginary romance.

Rey frowned at her.

“So, he shouldn’t _exert_ himself too much, not good for a recovering brain injury,” she said, her tone making Rey frown deeper. Nurse Rose thought he was overexerting himself _with her._ In bed.

“We’re just acquaintances,” Rey snapped.

“Oh, sorry, um, well, he got his X-Rays,” she said, her voice back to a professional timbre. “He did have a pretty nasty break from his fall. Common to be off balance after a brain trauma, have to be careful.”

“Just tell me if he has amnesia,” Rey said, feeling irritable from hunger. She had spent all of her money on food, then tossed it in order to run away when Ben recognized her.

“Yes, he has retrograde amnesia, he lost a decade. But it may come back in time.”

“Let’s hope not,” Rey muttered.

“But, we’ve got him in a cast and you can go in and see him.”

Rey stood, wanting to smack the little smirk off Nurse Rose’s face. She wasn’t here to visit her rapist. She was here for information, and she’d gotten it. Time to leave.

“I have a work shift tonight,” Rey lied, backing towards the doors.

“Oh, but,” Nurse Rose shook her head. “He doesn’t have anyone else.”

“I don’t care,” Rey said, remembering running home barefoot, clawing at her door locks. 

Nurse Rose looked like she was about to explode, so set on keeping Rey there, to see Coma Ben get a happily ever after.

“Did you know this was his sixth cast?” Nurse Rose said, wildly.

Rey stopped, taking the bait, “What is he, a daredevil?”

“No,” Nurse Rose said, coming closer, her voice conspiratorial. “He was abused by his uncle, and then that whole thing with his parents and the loan shark and finding their bodies and he doesn’t have anyone, please don’t go, I brought you a Sharpie to sign his cast.”

“I’m not signing his cast!” Rey laughed in her face.

“But, you’re _the girl._ Every day he asked us if we’d found you. Every day for two months,” she said, looking like a kid who just found out Santa wasn’t coming this year.

Wilting under her puppy eyes, Rey took the Sharpie. 

\-------------------

Rey texted Finn to pick her up at the hospital, deciding she would make Nurse Rose happy and spend a few minutes with Ben until he arrived. 

“Oh, are you going to sign my cast?” Ben asked, seeing her come in with the Sharpie in hand.

Rey thought about stabbing him in the eye with it, but Nurse Rose closed the door behind her, saying, “Yes, she’s going to,” before giving them their privacy.

Rey knew she was in a safe place, having confirmed that Ben had amnesia--for the time being--but she would have preferred the door open.

Exhaling, Rey sat in the bedside chair, “So. What’s it like, missing a decade?” 

Ben sat up straighter, laying his blank, white cast across his lap. 

“Ha. Um. Well, I’ve discovered Donald Trump is president--which made me a little glad I skipped four years of that. Ooh, smartphone cameras have come a long way. Let’s see...I binge watched this show called Game of Thrones. I also-,” he stopped as Rey cut him off.

“Are you a good person now?” Rey asked, taking a shuddering breath and standing up. “Because I’m not going to sign your cast unless you tell me you’re a good person.” 

“Was I a _bad_ person?” Ben asked, his face turning red. “Did I cheat on you?” 

He reached out to touch Rey on the shoulder but she dodged it, not out of fear, but out of hate. 

“I can’t tell if you’re acting,” she admitted. “You’re a good liar.”

“I’m not,” Ben said, looking shaken. He wiped a tear from his own eye. “Sorry, I cry when I see other people cry.”

Rey hadn’t even realized she was crying. Who the fuck was this _sensitive_ guy?

“This just isn’t who you were. You’re like two different people,” Rey said, sitting back down, collecting herself.

“I’m sorry for whatever I did,” he said seriously, hoping she’d tell him.

“It’s not something you can just apologize for,” Rey said, staring at his shoes, her hands twisting the cap on the marker, remembering the way he blew his cigarette smoke on her back after he slammed her down.

Ben covered his mouth, looking confused and shaking his head. He went to speak but closed his mouth. He was trying so hard to remember, but he settled for a somber silence.

Rey leaned forward, holding his cast still with her left hand while she wrote some song lyrics, from the song she had been playing to herself in the lobby, feeling as if forgiveness was flowing from the marker rather than ink. She tried to disregard the way his eyes watched her face rather than her writing. 

They were in the same boat now, she and him. Both recoverers.

**I lost my mind**

**Wake up, survive**

**I will get better**

**One day at a time**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rey’s cast signing lyrics from LOST MY MIND by Elley Duhe


	6. Dark doom honey, I follow you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Oh I beg you, can I follow?  
>  Oh I ask you, why not always?  
> Be the ocean, where I unravel  
> Be my only, be the water where I'm wading  
> You're my river running high  
> Run deep, run wild  
> I, I follow, I follow you  
> Deep sea baby, I follow you  
> I, I follow, I follow you  
> Dark doom honey, I follow you**
> 
> I Follow Rivers by Marika Hackman (Lykke Li cover)

Ben read the lyrics on his cast for the hundredth time in a week, and even though they were sideways and facing outward, he had them memorized. 

He slowed his walk to make sure he was keeping a block between him and Rey. His legs were longer and he kept gaining on her by accident.

He wasn’t stalking her so much as trying to tempt his memories to return, using her face as a marker, a pathway back to his consciousness. 

After selling the bar, in addition to his inheritance, he had enough money that he didn’t need to work for _a while,_ giving him time to focus on his recovery.

Rey pulled on the heavy front door of the gay bar. He knew she was going to work, he had spotted her nametag on her white button up shirt when she stepped out of her apartment ten minutes ago. 

Unfortunately, her apartment building didn’t look familiar in the slightest, which wasn’t to say they hadn’t dated and he had just forgotten. He was going to solve this mystery.

When her friend, Finn, picked her up at the hospital, he had recognized Ben, but Ben had no memory of him. 

Ben was relieved to discover he wasn’t her boyfriend though, after he mentioned his fiance, a man. Finn talked about how he knew Rey--neighbors in this apartment--which is how he found himself here today, trailing her steps.

His back to the wall, around the corner from the bar, Ben closed his eyes, remembering their uncomfortable parting at the hospital.

“Oh, wait, before you go,” he had said, climbing out of the bed. 

She paused in the doorway, holding her finger up, a signal to Finn she’d be a minute.

“Do you want to get a coffee or something with me? Sometime?” he asked, desperate to get to know her better, before she walked away and he never saw her again.

“I can safely say, I will _never_ go on a date with you,” she said, defiantly, her hazel eyes flashing.

Just tell me what I did! Ben roared internally. How could he regret something he couldn't _remember_?

Giving her some space, Ben tried to dial himself back. “According to my staff, I was a bit of a loner. I don’t have anyone who knew me to talk to. It doesn’t have to be a date.”

She looked at him, thinking carefully, then whispered at the floor, “I forgive you. But you are the scariest person in the world to me. You have to figure out who you were on your own.” And with that, she was gone, leaving him to imagine the worst. 

That was the hardest part--the not knowing what he had done. It had given him a mission, a wrong to right, but first he had to unlock the memory--and she was the key.

\--------------------------

Three large guys passed him, turning the corner towards the bar. He scowled, catching part of their conversation. 

“...if someone caught us eating at the faggot bar.”

They were rough-looking, clearly armed, possibly members of one of the two local gangs that found it acceptable to shoot cops on sight. And they were heading to Rey’s work.

Something dark stirred in his gut, like he had just found a convenient outlet for his frustrations, someone he could guiltlessly confront, release his rage, and the more outnumbered he was the better, because a part of him was okay with the idea of non-existence, if it was for a good cause.

Ben didn’t have any weapons, but he followed, watching them go inside. He tried to listen through the door, but everything was muffled. Peeking through the window, he saw Rey seat them at a table, then disappear to the left. 

He slipped inside, knowing the layout from his previous visit. He ducked behind the curtain that blocked off the upstairs--until weekends when they probably opened it up to a club on the second floor.

He could eavesdrop on the men easily, a rowdy bunch, only twenty feet away from his hiding spot.

“She’s a waitress, not a prostitute,” one was laughing. “Put your money away.” 

“No, no, no, let me just see,” the other replied, eagerly waiting for Rey's return. 

Ben felt his fists clench, which caused a little pain to shoot up his left arm, still healing inside it’s fiberglass cocoon. 

He heard whispering and realized the instigator was talking to Rey. 

Ben looked through the gap in the curtains just in time to see him grab her by the hips and forcibly sit her down on his leg. 

Ben erupted from behind the curtain, pulling Rey up by the arm while simultaneously tipping the asshole’s chair backwards, where the back of his head made contact with the concrete. 

His bald buddy stood, reaching down the back of his pants for a handgun, but Ben backhanded him across the face with his cast as hard as he could, causing Ben to curse in pain, rather than the man.

Rey was screaming, holding the legs of a stool underneath the bar as the second guy hit the floor, spitting blood and teeth.

The third guy was still sitting, watching in shock. 

Ben took a break, watching them slowly assessing him, trying to shake the shockwaves of pain out of his arm.

They were communicating silently to each other, preparing to _murder_ Ben, when they all froze, hearing the loud cocking handle of a shotgun from behind the bar. 

The bartender, Lando, fixed the group in his sights, “Get out, all of you.” 

Ben held his arm and bloody cast in the air, turning towards the exit, when he heard, “Not you, you can stay.” 

He pivoted back, confirming Lando was addressing him, before lowering his arms and watching the trifecta slowly retreat out the door. The one he had hit with the cast looked the worst off, his jaw completely out of alignment, a goatee of blood coating his chin. 

Turning, Ben held his good hand out to help Rey off the floor where she still crouched next to the stool. Her eyes traveled from his hand up to his face, blinking, as if trying to understand how he was there at all. He would have to come up with something to explain his presence.

Looking at her confusion, he had a flash, a memory! Rey, confused, her hand holding a door handle, his arm shooting out to hold the door closed. They were in a dark alley. It was there and gone in a second, but his mind held onto it.

Rey refused his hand, but stood up. Her familiar face closer to him now, he was hit with another flash. 

He pulled her backwards by the hips--like the gang member had just done--throwing her up against a pinball machine, and slammed her top half down on it, before kicking her feet apart to spread her legs. His fly was open.

_Holy shit._

Ben backed away from Rey, everything making sense now. His face must have reflected the terror within because she was watching him, her hand even reaching out, her adamant resolve to hate him weakening for a moment.

He turned and ran, not forcing his company on her for one more second.

He saw the gang members, only two blocks south, so he changed direction and sprinted north, heading nowhere in particular, just away.

\------------------------------

Sitting on the sidewalk, leaning against a chain link fence, Ben felt his body start to rock back and forth as a hail storm of images and memories pelted him. He attempted to put them in order, to invent justifications for the things he was remembering, to block out others. Each memory jarred another, giving him no time to recover.

He locked the door of the bar with a click.

His father slammed the hood of the Mustang, turning to hug him goodbye, not caring if they got grease on each other.

Rey was hugging a man, their first meeting. He heard her speak, picking up on a British accent. Could he pin it down to London? He listened all night, learning as much as he could about her likes and dislikes, her history. Her date had a habit of slapping his leg to emphasize how funny he thought her.

Above the sounds of applause, he heard his dad’s whistle, as he crossed the stage to accept his diploma. He worried people were noticing his slightly bow-legged walk.

Rey walked over to the pinball machine and took off her heels.

He saw a stray shoe on the floor as he unlocked the door and let himself in. His mother's body lay before him, in his parent’s foyer, her arms wrapped around the family dog, Chewie, a little, brown dachshund who would never hurt anyone. Who could kill a woman and her dog?

Ben told Rey he wasn’t going to kill her, but she screamed anyway.

Ben wailed as he found his father’s body too, face down on the floor of his study, a gun in his hand. He hyperventilated, squatting to catch his breath.

His uncle held him underwater in the bathtub. All he’d done was ask for some food.

Ben hadn’t eaten in days, even though there was food in his parents house. He couldn’t imagine eating with the smell of their bodies in the air. He should probably call the police. Why hadn’t he done that when he first found them? He should change his pants, these had blood on the knees.

His pants slid down to his knees. Rey looked back at him and he came inside her. 

He had his face in the corner for a long time, enough for Uncle Luke to start another movie. He hadn’t heard a noise in a while, so he turned to see if he was asleep. “Time starts again, because you looked!” he shouted from the couch. 

“Withdrawals?” someone asked him. Ben’s head jerked up, seeing a man mimicking his side to side motions, smiling.

Ben stilled his body, so he wouldn’t appear like a drug addict, sitting on the street with his head in his hands. 

“No, I’m fine,” he told the man.

“I can help you out, if you need something,” he hinted, patting one of the pockets of his jacket. 

Ben had no experience with drugs, but he was eager for a mental holiday, before he drowned in self-loathing, before he found a bridge or tall building with his name on it.

“I’ll take everything you’ve got,” Ben said seriously.

\---------------------------------------

Ben jumped up, grabbing the fire escape ladder and pulling it down until it jolted to a halt a foot above the ground. He held tight to the metal for a moment while his head spun, vertigo, from looking up to grab the ladder. The pills were kicking in.

He climbed the ladder, as quietly as possible, not wanting her to hear him and scare her more than he already had, 4 or 5 months ago. He had pieced it together that his brain injury might have actually occurred that night. A self defense wound.

The pills were helping slow the hail storm of memories, giving him time to actually think about what he had seen. Find context.

Safely on the first level of the fire escape, his ascent turned into stairs. He peeked into the first window, but it was clearly a man’s apartment. He kept going up, looking in four more windows, until he saw a living room that could be a woman’s—there weren’t many women renting alone in this neighborhood. The window was open, lights were on, as well as music, so he waited to see if someone would walk by. 

As if on cue, Rey stepped into his field of view, carrying a pile of folded towels and putting them away in a hall linen closet. He saw a flash of her amazing legs and wondered if she was naked, but she reentered the frame and he realized she was in a T-shirt and panties, putting away her laundry.

He turned his back to the window, feeling like a peeping Tom, and slid down until the top of his head wasn’t visible from inside. He sat, just enjoying listening to music at the same time as her.

Ben had come to apologize, profusely, but he didn’t know which door was hers, so he’d gotten the bright idea to find her window. But it was getting dark now, and of course that was a terrible way to approach a girl you’ve...raped. Thanks, drugs.

The pills made his body heavy with double gravity, but his head felt light, full of helium.

He blinked and it was dark. Had he napped, he wondered, aware suddenly that the drugs were causing nauseating dry mouth. He was tired of this body. 

He was going to offer himself up to Rey, to do with as she willed. How could he live as himself? Trapped in the body of a criminal. He’d rather exist as a dark, long-gone chapter in Rey’s memory.

Rey was singing along to a song inside, off-key, fucking up the lyrics, performing for no one. He chuckled. 

Her singing stopped mid-word.

Oh, shit.


	7. Is the devil so bad if he cries in his sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **My heart and soul were never mine to own  
>  What you care to die for?  
> What you care to die for?  
> Is the devil so bad if he cries in his sleep while the Earth turns?  
> Does the devil get scared if she dies in her dreams while the Earth burns?  
> She cries cause she's nothin like you, is she like you?  
> What do you want from a devil like me? Am I like you?**
> 
> Devil like me by Akine (Rainbow Kitten Surprise cover)

Rey ran to her purse and pulled out her pepper spray, keeping her eyes on the window where she had just heard a faint laugh. 

It was 3 am, she should not be hearing anything outside on the fire escape. She replayed the last half an hour: dancing in her underwear in front of the mirror, trying to tire herself out so she could sleep, her mind restless after the scene at the bar.

Looking at her hand, she realized she had accidentally grabbed her lipstick. She threw it back in her purse and found her pepper spray canister, walking slowly towards the window to investigate. She also had a taser and handcuffs, but they were in the bedroom and she didn’t want to take her eyes off the window.

She saw a pair of legs stretched out flat, belonging to someone sitting on the landing with their back to the window. 

Could it be Poe? Maybe they were having a fight and he crawled outside.

She opened the window more and stuck her head out, but kept her finger on the pepper spray depressor.

“Hi,” Ben said, looking up at her, his face calm but tear-stained.

Rey banged the back of her head on the window, trying to retreat. She held the pepper spray up, expecting him to try to climb through any second.

“Ouch,” he said, having heard her. He didn’t move. He _had_ looked a little stoned or something.

“I have mace!” she said, hoping to see him make a run for it. 

“You _should_ mace me,” he said, definitely sounding inebriated.

“What’s wrong with you? Why are you outside my window?” Rey asked, grabbing her phone off the speaker dock with her other hand, ready to call 911. When the music cut off, she could hear him better.

“I was going to say that I’m. So. Sorry. Then I think I fell asleep,” he said, still sitting, facing the apartments across from hers. 

An idea hitting her, Rey ran into her bedroom to grab the handcuffs off the dresser. She returned, tossed them into his lap through the window, and pointed the pepper spray at him again.

“Cuff yourself to the railing and we’ll talk,” she said, watching in awe as he did as he was told, first attaching a cuff to his one good wrist, then the other cuff to the railing. He sat now, facing the window into her apartment. 

“I’m going to put pants on,” she said, slowly lowering the pepper spray.

“Can I have some water?” he asked, making her almost laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

“Uh, yeah,” she said, shaking her head. 

She returned in a pair of pajama pants with a glass of water, but set it on the sill before stepping out of reach.

“Thanks,” he said, taking it and downing the glass. 

Rey couldn’t believe this was happening. She thought about running next door to get Finn, but something inside her wanted to have a private chat with him, now that _he_ was helpless, _she_ the one in control. He was mumbling something to himself.

“Where we choose to be, where we choose to be. We have the power to determine that in our lives. We cannot reel time backward or forward, but we can take ourselves to the place that defines our being,” he said, sounding sleepy.

“What was that?” Rey asked, coming close to the sill to make sure he wasn’t going to pass out.

“I think it must be something I read,” he said, sounding confused now.

He’s getting his memories back, she thought. If his memories were traumatic, he could become the cruel, crazy, pre-amnesia Ben. He might want to silence her. But maybe he hadn’t remembered that much yet.

“I’m going to pee off your fire escape. Don’t look,” he added, as if he was shy.

Rey smiled and took his glass off the sill, refilling it in the kitchen as she watched him try to stand and pee off the side with his back to her. He seemed to have a little difficulty doing it with his cast arm, then buttoning himself back up, squatting slightly so he could use both hands. She waited patiently, then brought the full glass back and set it on the sill.

He reached for it, but she didn’t flinch away.

“What are you on?” she wondered aloud as she watched him sip the water.

“A little bit of everything,” Ben admitted. He looked up at her, with his hand cuffed to the railing. 

His hair was in his face and he tried to position his lips to blow his hair upwards, out of his eyes, but it just fell back down. It was actually pretty cute.

The outside air was the perfect temperature, whereas inside felt hot and stuffy. She put the pepper spray in the pocket of her pajama pants and tentatively climbed out the window.

He watched her sit across from him, as far away as the space would allow, her feet inches from his knees.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said, “I know it’s weird I’m here, but I just came to say I’m sorry.”

“Did you remember something?” she asked, hoping he had. So far things were sounding calm, nonviolent, and it was wiping away the knots of anxiety she had been fostering for months.

“Yeah, bits and pieces, enough to put it all together I think,” he said, taking another sip. “I have kind of an offer for you.”

Rey tensed. 

Ben licked his lips, looking at his feet, “I wanted to say, that if you’d feel better, I could kill myself.”

“What?!” Rey exclaimed, before lowering her voice. Finn and Poe would hear, their window only feet away. “Why would you say that?”

“Because. Because of what I did. My uncle hurt me and I would love it if he died,” Ben laughed. 

Rey felt herself softening towards him, with his sad, dark eyes, the only part of him that looked her age. “Look at what I wrote on your cast, I don’t want you to give up. If I didn’t give up, you don’t get to either.”

She watched as he swung his head back, considering her shot of optimism, letting it pour through him, her hope and generosity the deciding factor. 

“I always wanted to be like my dad, but maybe I don’t want to die like him, taking the quick escape rather than the grueling climb. When my mom was shot, he just...followed,” Ben mumbled.

“Nurse Rose told me a little about your parents. Do you think that’s why you used to be so…” she didn’t want to pick a word to describe the way he used to be. None of them would be flattering and she didn’t want to set him off.

“Such a rapist sociopath?” he said for her. “God, it had to be, because I didn’t used to be like that. And I’m not like that now. That _thing_ that I was, when I remembered. Makes my skin crawl, Rey. Honestly, you hitting me with a bottle was the best thing that could have ever happened to me,” he said, looking down at his cast. It still had a little dried blood on the back, from hitting her customer earlier. “I’ve avoided therapy my whole life. I think I went one time, but dismissed everything she said. But this feels good. Just to talk. Maybe I’ll. Think about it.”

Out of this whole confession, Rey’s favorite takeaway was simply just hearing her name come off his lips. It was the first time she had heard him say it. There was something stirring about it, a milestone that she wanted to reciprocate.

“Thanks for beating the shit out of those guys, uh, Ben. And stopping me from stepping in front of the trailer. But. I don’t want you following me,” Rey said, honestly. She was putting the cards on the table, seeing if he lied. 

“I did follow you to the bar. And to your apartment. But at the grocery store I didn’t know who you were, I don’t think. At least not consciously,” he said. “Until you looked back at me.” 

There was a strange note in his voice. It should have chilled her that he was thinking of her with longing, but for some reason, she wanted more.

She poked at the thought. She came to the conclusion that she _was_ attracted to him, despite what he had done, even _because_ of what he had done, because she liked that he helped her twice, she even appreciated his _suicide proposal_ , which was about as much proof of a 180 she could imagine. 

She was _never_ going to act on this attraction, because _who did that_? 

Looking up, she saw Ben was watching her with a flicker of the intensity from their days at the Crossguard Bar.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Rey ordered, swallowing. 

He looked away, at his cuffed hand, then the stairs. 

Rey felt cold at his retreating gaze because--despite her command--she wanted it back. She was just as fucked up as he was, she thought.

Seeing him up close again was reminding her of all the things she liked about him _before_. The way his dark hair fell, his expressive mouth, his giant hands. She even remembered how _big_ he was with an ache between her legs, rather than the _revulsion_ she should feel, as his victim.

“You know, I didn’t expect you to be the type to have handcuffs,” he said, as if he just noticed his restraints.

“I bought them for safety,” Rey said, giving him the side eye.

He chuckled, “Yeah, Mott Haven is the worst.”

“You’re telling me,” Rey agreed, smiling, even though she was thinking specifically of him when she bought them online.

There was a long silence, and he glanced over at her then away, as if asking permission to look at her. 

Fuck normal.

“Look at me,” she said, hearing the same note in her voice he had let slip earlier. 

His eyes shot to hers, hopefully. 

Rey studied his expression, realizing she had raised herself up onto her knees and inched up beside him. 

His eyes flicked back and forth between hers. His Adam's apple jumped with a swallow and his lips parted, surprised she was so close. His eyes slid down to her mouth gauging the distance, giving away his thoughts.

Inches from his face, Rey looked down too, his wet bottom lip turning her resolve paper-thin.

“Are you a good man now? Because I’m not going to kiss you unless you’re a good man,” Rey said, feeling like she might cry.

He frowned at the break in her voice. “Honestly? I would say anything right now if you would kiss me.”

Trying not to think too hard, Rey found his ready mouth, letting his tongue inside, sweet-tasting, unlike last time. He must have given up smoking. 

His hard cast arm touched her leg, just barely.

“No,” she said, pulling away. “ _You_ don’t move.” 

She wasn’t sure if she trusted him, but she was ready to find out.

He nodded. “Okay,” and put his hand back on the lowest rung of the railing.

Without thinking, Rey kissed him, forcing _her_ tongue inside first this time, and threw a leg over his lap, straddling him. She ran her fingers through his hair and tangled them into fists at the back of his neck, grinding into him beneath her with an eagerness that was borderline obscene.

He groaned, that breathy, orgasmic noise. 

Rey froze, removing her hands from his hair, remembering that sound. Last time he made that noise right before the change into Mr. Hyde.

“Sorry,” he said deeply, before trying to clear his throat, his voice plunging from a surge of testosterone. 

When she didn’t respond, his eyes opened, fearful he’d broken the spell.

To the contrary, Rey felt that familiar wetness of anticipation as her needs turned coarse. 

Deciding to make a trial of Ben’s self-discipline, she pressed her thumbs upwards from the bottom of his ‘man V’ through his shirt, watching as he blinked at her quickly, but didn’t try to force her like he did the first time. She could feel him harden beneath her. 

She had never gotten the chance to touch him last time.

“We could stop,” he said, giving her an out, but his husky voice told her he would rather jump from the 5th floor fire escape than see her go.

Rey reached down between her legs and gripped him through his jeans, then slid her hand down and back up, enjoying the stiffness, the flattering manifestation of his attraction to her. 

She was going to get hers, she thought, worry about the repercussions later.

Ben’s breath caught in his throat and his head leaned back on the railing, but his eyes stayed on her, begging.


	8. I promise myself not to slip back into old habit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **And yeah, maybe that's true 'cause I can't stop thinkin' 'bout you  
>  I'm tryin' I'm tryin' not to forget my words  
> 'Cause when I'm around you, I tend to keep changin' my mind  
> I promise I promise myself not to slip back into old habit  
> 'Cause heartbreak is savage and love is a bitch**
> 
> Love is a bitch by Eweezy (Two Feet cover)

She was teasing him, testing him, concerned he would transform back into who he was four months ago. 

As she kissed him, her breasts grazed his chest. So much irritating fabric between them, the lack of sensory nerves in his torso giving him little feedback. He wanted to squeeze, suck, rub, slide every inch of her nakedness over his, to explode on her tits and smear it over her body like frosting on a cake-

Then she leaned back, out of reach, leaving him panting for her mouth, missing the feel of her curves, his dick throbbing beneath her. He wanted to whine like a child, his toy taken away, handcuffed in Time Out. It was maddening, his penance, but _still_ he didn’t move his cast arm from the railing. 

He was no stranger to punishment.

Her hand was still feeling him through his jeans, sending shivers down his spine at the cruelty of it, the deprivation, especially when he had the memories now, knew how good it felt to be inside her. But he remained a statue for her, a reticent gentleman, completely at her mercy, taking whatever crumbs she threw him.

She was tracing his neck with her lips, barely touching him, like a vampire thinking about a snack.

He groaned, louder than he would have normally, but the drugs made every touch feel like its own kind of rehabilitation. 

She shifted, her hand on the railing above his head for a moment, giving him the briefest glimpse down her T-shirt. Did she own a fucking bra?

She _wasn’t_ going to break him--he wasn’t that guy anymore. That person was a monster with a shell of him inside.

Rey tugged his shirt up, but since she couldn’t get it past his arms, she just pulled it over his head and let it sit on the back of his neck, exposing his chest. 

Ben wished _she_ would shed a layer, this wasn’t fair, but he kept his greedy mouth shut.

He thought she was going to explore him with her fingers, like she had done with his crotch, but that wouldn’t satiate her. Rey started fucking _licking_ him, finding each muscle and tasting it with her tongue and lips, then her teeth raked at his pecs. 

He looked down, seeing marks. That was fucking un-vegan of her, he thought, remembering details from date eavesdropping. She did it again, on the other side, and this time he pictured the sensation from her perspective, the glory of _taking_. The sexual empathy made him reexamine his stance on teeth. The next time she did it, right above his belt line, he actually raised himself up a little, _giving_. 

Ben exhaled, looking at the sky, the tendons in his neck tightening. This little game of hers was going to make him come in his pants, no doubt about it. 

He deserved every second of it. He had _taken, stolen_ what he wanted with no consideration for her, now she was returning the favor. 

Her mouth still savoring his abs, she grabbed him--hard--through his pants, making his grip tighten on the railing, his cuffed hand clenched in a fist in the air, the metal wearing at his wrist. 

Less of an Audrey Hepburn and more of a Joan Jett, Rey was going to make him _sore_ down there, as she showed him her true colors. 

He had almost despaired for himself, when she stood and stepped out of her pajama pants, coming back down on him and unbuttoning the four buttons that had been digging into his erection. He wanted to scream “thank god!” at the top of his lungs. 

She worked him free, surprisingly gentle now, her soft hands tickling the sensitive skin of his shaft. Part of him wanted Joan Jett back, her aggression helped him forget how inexperienced Rey was, how he had done something so vile to someone so innocent.

Looking at his cock, then up to his face, she licked her lips, causing his heart to skip a beat. Was she going to put her mouth on him? Oh, please do it, he thought.

But instead, she pulled the crotch of her panties to the side and slid his tip over her wet entrance and up to her clit, back and forth. His jaw worked in frustration. 

She smiled, noticing his eyebrows furrow, his stomach muscles clenching, his lips between his teeth. Back and forth.

She stroked him. Once. YES! Her arousal lubricating him as she fucking _dripped_ down him.

Then continued enjoying herself with his tip. Her hips were rocking over him now too, her cadence increasing, her head falling back. All he could do was watch, wish he was inside her, a bystander to her pleasure. 

His sensitive tip was like having a hand on her, reporting back how swollen and tender and hot and slick and ready she was, but unable to supply him with the pressure and friction his body was craving. 

“Ah!” Rey cried, biting down on her own fist to quiet herself, remembering her neighbors. She made a cute little scrunched up face, a bit like his when he stretched in the morning, then her hand stilled, releasing his cock as she sat on the top of his thighs, resituating her underwear.

It was his turn, he thought, looking down, seeing his dick blushing fat with blood, powerfully vertical, all on it’s own, imploring to be buried deep in her cunt till morning. He didn’t need arms to pound her from the bottom. 

She was staring at him, putting her hair in a ponytail. Oh, this was going to be good, whatever she had planned next. 

Oh, fuck, he could smell her _scent_ , so subtle, so carnal. 

He wanted to lay her down and delve his fingers in her, bring her to orgasm again and again, pay tribute, make retribution. He wanted to spend a day doing nothing but kissing her tits. He wanted to pick her up by the pussy and toss her on the bed, bury his face in her and block out the world with her thighs. He wanted to feel her from the inside, find that secret place no one else has dared to go and swirl his cock around it, then come and come and come, sign his name from the inside, write on her like she did his cast.

He could feel himself actually shaking, desperation taking hold. He found her eyes with his, his chest heaving.

She caught her breath, her open mouth turning upward into a smile as she looked at him through her eyelashes. 

What was that face? _No._

Wait.

She stood.

You savage.

He watched as she climbed back through the window to her apartment, without a word.

Finally removing his cast hand from the railing, he put his dick back in the waistband of his boxer briefs, unable to redo the buttons of his jeans with one hand.

Laughing to himself, Ben realized she was tipping the scales, evening the score.

“I’ll give you the key in the morning,” Rey said, nonchalantly, as she walked into her bedroom. He heard the springs as she climbed into bed.

“Son of a bitch,” he mouthed wordlessly to himself, grinning ear to ear. 

He shook his head. Rey might think that one night of blue balls was enough reparations, but he was determined to redeem himself, even if it took a lifetime of servitude, she could have him, mold him, torture or repair him, body and soul.


	9. This is the room one afternoon I knew I could love you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **And this is the room one afternoon  
>  I knew I could love you  
> And from above you how I sank into your soul  
> Into that secret place where no one dares to go**
> 
> King of Carrot Flowers by KOLARS (Neutral Milk Hotel cover)

Rey dropped the box, opening it up to make sure it belonged with the bathroom things. She spotted lipstick and eyeshadow and slid the box into the empty, open shelves behind the door. The bathroom mirror looked stark, so she grabbed the lipstick from the top of the box’s contents and drew a little heart in the bottom right corner.

She smiled, happy with the way things were going with Ben, the way she felt surprisingly safe around him at all times. The way he was bonding with Poe, his new gym buddy, venting his trauma and amnesia frustrations to a friend rather than just his shrink. The way his introspective side had come out, keeping them up late at night working through it all. She was the perfect sounding board, a lover of analysis. But he listened to her too, knew when to touch her, when to watch from afar, to get lost in a book and let her wander about to some music.

Rey added a slightly bigger heart next to the other one, then turned the lipstick on her lips. Why not do party red lipstick and overalls? You only live once. 

She popped the lipstick back in the box and hustled back to the front door, waiting for Finn and Ben to enter with a bare mattress.

“Is that ours or yours?” she asked Finn, but Ben answered. 

“Ours.”

He gave her a kiss on the neck as they passed, avoiding a lip color transference, but flashing her a wolfy grin of approval. 

She turned to check him out unabashedly as they traversed the staircase, then jogged down the concrete front steps of the brownstone to the moving truck parked in the street. She climbed into the back and found a box full of Ben’s books and started down the truck’s ramp. When she got back to the stairs, Ben stopped her, taking the box out of her arms, as if it was too heavy for her.

“I got this one,” he said, his fingers skimming hers on the handoff. Their eyes met at the contact, feeling that crazy thing that was between them, even after six months.

Poe passed Ben on the stairs, having put away at least ten yards of clothes on hangers. “This place is incredible, I can’t get over the crown molding.”

After Finn and Poe’s wedding, they had started house hunting, which just so happened to be around the same time Rey and Ben had decided to move in together. Instead of each couple getting a modest establishment, they pooled their incomes, with a generous donation from Ben’s inheritance, and bought a three-story townhome in Cobble Hill, a safe Brooklyn neighborhood.

Move in complete, they congregated in the kitchen around the island, Rey sliding up to sit on the counter as they cheersed their ice waters. 

“I’ve still got a lot of unpacking to do,” Poe said, planning out loud.

“No, wait,” Finn protested, holding him still by the arm. ”Let’s all just take a moment to enjoy what Fate has brought us...love, friends, safety, a man with an ass that won’t quit,” Finn said, appreciatively.

They all giggled at the joke, but there was a deeper relief in everyone’s eyes. To be there, together, felt warm and right.

Poe leaned in and kissed Finn, just a sensual peck, before they nuzzled each other, oblivious to Rey and Ben, who smiled sheepishly. 

Suddenly, Ben dipped down and picked Rey up, her body over his shoulder as she gasped, upside down.

“I have to warn you guys—wanted to wait till we bought the place to tell you the truth—Rey’s a _screamer_ ,” he said, mischievously, turning and heading down the hall. 

Rey laughed, arching her back to look up at Finn and Poe, standing aghast, watching as Ben carried her into the bedroom and kicked the door closed behind them.


End file.
